Common *** for common man
Leave passion for the poet

In literature I go
Still I search for you
Firm grasp of the pen
Still I search for you
To the canvas & brush
Still I search for you
Until my passion is met
I will always search for you

Few can pronounce it
Unless Scandinavian.
The r's are all rolling,
And the letters all sound...
More or less not as
In English.
Just let it go, it's a 'twister,
I know.

My names are all old-norse,
Not modern Norwegian.
(Viking-speak sounded
More close to Icelandic).
Sverre means "spin like an arrow",
Expression for being untamed; un-
Controllable; wild-man.
G is for Guttorm: "Where Gods
Seek Shelter"; a fortress for those
One thought needed one least.
Holter means "edge of the woods";
The end of the forest (or where it
Begins).

The Wildman Where the
Gods Seek Shelter at the
Edge of the Woods.

My friends call me Sverre.
It is a name I've shared with
Swordbearing kings.
I am equally proud
When addressed.

Love its essence doth change
becoming sweetened,
mellow with age.

She sleeps there in the chambers
The morning light caresses her
She paints a picture of serenity
As if time has stopped to appreciate
A perfect painting of sleeping beauty
Braided tresses lies across her beguile heart
Like a serpent entwined across in slumber
Her lithe body, breathing in perfect harmony
Creating a trance like milieu
Her beauty is mesmerizing, the faint glow captivating
Only covered with a sleep linen
The languid morning doesn't dare to wake her up
Pillows are cajoling her and being indulgent  
Her unfading beauty mesmerizes me
The sleeping beauty rests there in grace
As I quietly trespass into her dreams


Amitav...

~

Unlike you

Hovering like a gnat that finds a face irresistible
Swatting frantically does no good as
insects will be insects and annoying is part of their plan

As it seems each day I find a new offering unfolding its wings,
buzzing about with all of its ***** laundry,
as if poetry has become merely a tool to harass

Finding little folders to slide into…highlighting
each word of bin fodder, old but new
hoping for accolades in lemonade fashion

Funny how that works as bitter becomes the norm,
never letting go of that scent that attracts you…
whatever it is about the human aroma you find so pleasing

Perhaps it is that it will never be you…insect,
oh little gnat of warm summer zephyrs failing to flutter by
lost within the deep confines of a posies’ petals

To ruin our summer faire, our picnic in the sun
can not happen for you see we are happy
in our own skin, with its wondrous fragrance…unlike you

please stop suffering
you are too young to be so sad

you lock the door
let the music scream
as loud as your thoughts

starring in the mirror crying
ugly, ugly, ugly

oh god knows
that i wish i could protect you
every second of everyday,
but the matter of fact is
i can scare away those kids,
i can wave away our parents,
i can’t protect you from yourself

i can only steal so many razors
tell you that you’re beautiful so many times
i’m beating myself
trying to save you

nobody loves me
you utter
i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry

please don’t leave me here
please let me help you

i don’t have the words
to give you what you need
to stay
you just have to believe
its going to be okay

grey skies roll
clouded tropical
undercurrents
of future falls
shrouding skies
and shifting seas
from sad-eyed lowlands
to mountain highs
and we as trees
shiver branches
ever extending
shootings in the breeze
at arm’s reach
we never touch
planted
too far apart
and as such
falling droplets
slip through fingers
and shatter the ground
an endless coming down
our roots soaked through
spent
and craving more
all around
aroused from slumber
the petrichor grows
slowly floating up
and filling the air

I fled to the bathroom.
Only to be reminded of
our first night together.
Your gentle hands
lifting me on the counter.
Intoxicating kissing
flush cheeks,
with shower steam
cloaked behind us.
I unhooked my bra,
and climbed into bed.
Half expecting you to be there
waiting for me,
like how you did
when I got home from class.
I wanted to be able to count
the stars on your skin.
I can't seem to fall asleep
without being beneath
your heaven.

I dream of going far away.
Plunging into the grandeur
And the vastness
Of the world.
I am ready to leave this place;
I am ready, I say,
To be away.

I will write and draw,
And take drugs with strangers.
I will sleep on the beach,
Bathe in rivers,
And plunge into nature,
Away from four walls,
From screens and cars,
And toward greenery and stars;
Splendid laughter and epiphanies
Spilling from the ether,
Behind trees and over mountains,
In the silent water of calm lakes,
And in the crimson sky
Of some northwestern twilight.

I will wander abandoned roads
And drink coffee in midnight diners
Thousands of miles from home,
For the road beckons,
And the moon never waits.

The wanderlust of youth
Is nothing to waste.

We are the Misfits, the underdogs
We are the uncomfortable silence being sprinkled like salt around the dinner table
for we’d rather drink the tap water
We are the influx of doctor’s bills drowning mother’s in shame confusion and debt-
our father’s were confused too but then they learned to forget.
We are the daddy’s little girls who used easy bake ovens and had barbies by the dozens
Those childrens toy’s turned into drugs and boys
so now we undress like Barbie and get baked
like the sweet potato my momma left for me in her human sized oven
All of a sudden
We are the little boys playing with power rangers
pretending that curfew was our only danger
But don’t you love it when they call you big Poppa?
From poppin a slam dunk to poppin a cap in your homeboy’s head
Because you’d rather be a gangster than listen to what momma said

We are the young men getting less than, five hours of rest in
a week because there’s a mermaid who stole his heart and hid it so deep
the **** boy’s trying to grow gills
We are the mermaids falling for sea monsters
who knew of the danger but didn’t give a ****.

( She’d do anything for you you know that? If you went to jail I swear to God she’s rob a bank just so you could both be incarcerated.)

We are the youngest girl and boy in the emergency room at 1 in the morning
I can hear my mom’s boyfriend in the corner there snoring
We are the youth with confidence like sinking ships
We live off of prayers for the oncoming apocalypse

Welcome to Misfit Island
the fog on the lake at 2 in the morning looks like a sheet of glass
separating a goblet of moonlight and a mug of dark fright
We jump on the beach like astronauts and forget everything our grandparents taught us
We are the lovers loving with the strength of every particle beam or lazer
because if it wasn’t love it’d sure as hell be a razor

We choose moonlight and philosophy over structured life hypocracy
because we are the misfits.
We are the listeners, the observers
We are the panic attacks written between your math quiz and midnight purge
We are the bipolar, manic, ridden with panic, schizophrenic, depressed, never not stressed
Eating disordered, Addicted, and every other diagnosis written 2013’s edition of DSM
We are the soldiers going to war with our own country day in and day out
there’s no voter’s booth in the universe that can make us put our weapons down.

But we are the misfits, plural
we come to this beach to laugh and to cry, giving every answer a capital WHY  
because our insides differ
we are not the same
Welcome to Misfit Island, we are young and insane
Do not be fooled by our high school transcripts or unshaven faces and hairy armpits
We hold more gold within each and every one of our souls
than you could ever dream to sell or bend to fit the mold
our screams will dance in song and with every breath we take
we learn to forgive our past and how to learn from our mistakes